Titian
by starlit skyes
Summary: My response to the DG Forum's 100 Days, 100 Drabbles challenge. Odds and ends of fun, frolic, fluff and fervor. Oh, alliteration. Enjoy! Most of this is DracoxGinny, with occasional other characters and pairings.
1. New

**A/N: **This is for the DG Forum's 100 Days, 100 Drabbles challenge. A pretty risky thing for me to take up, considering my lack of life, but I can't seem to avoid the fun.

**The challenge is to write 100 drabbles in 100 days. The chapter title is the prompt for that day. This will mostly be Draco/Ginny, but I might include something else later on. **

Anyway, so thanks to my split-second decision that I would take part, I just saw the first prompt and typed this up. I've had a bit of a problem writing lately, and when I thought of 100 drabbles, and the prompt "New", I thought I should start with how I feel, essentially, nearly every DG grows. Hope it's enjoyable!

* * *

The first time he kissed her, it had been like a fire burning him, melting him, turning him to quivering jelly that suddenly trembled from too much emotion. He realized he cared.

He wanted to know. He was afraid.

"What do you think?" he'd asked her evenly, hiding his uncertainty, hope.

"It's...different," she'd murmured, "new." And her eyes had glanced up at him, dancing, melting chocolate, broken through his every wall, reached out and prodded his dormant, cold heart.

**xxx**

The tunnels he'd been sucked into by her were new. The roads he travelled, hoping they'd lead to her, were new. The skies he flew past, the clouds he swooped through, chasing her. Nothing was familiar, but they all made him feel like he was walking into bright light turning him to gold.

That terrifying abyss he thought he'd sink into, the iron hold of fear in his heart, every time he thought he might lose her...he wasn't used to that, either.

**xxx**

"I've killed," he'd said harshly, as blood blurred around them, a tornado of screams and cruel light. "I've killed, tortured...I..."

"I know." She gazed up at him with eyes that were liquid chocolate, strong and beautiful. "It's nothing new."

He'd thought he'd lost her. Of course he had. Every thing in the world, every thing he counted on and hoped for...

Then she'd stood on her toes, pressing her lips to his in a fiery, broken kiss. "It doesn't make a difference, though," she'd breathed, her voice cracking. "You still make me feel like I shine. And that's always new to me."

**xxx**

Hostile eyes from every corner, each whispered word he heard stinging his years. Smoke clouded every pore of light, smoke stained by red that swirled all around him, blinding him, suffocating him.

But out of nowhere, he caught a flash of fiery red, catching the sunlight, and she was in his arms, warming him, and she was gazing up at him fiercely.

"I love you," she said.

And it was new.

* * *

**A/N: **382 words, not including the AN. Please review!


	2. Broken

"You're drunk, Draco Malfoy." She stared at him as he stood at her doorway, smirking sleepily.

"Drunk?" he slurred. "Not me. I'm a sharp guy, Ginny. Sharp...and alert." He swayed slightly, catching himself on the door. "And I," he said seriously, "have to talk to you."

"I'm not letting you in, Draco!" she warned, though she really wanted to.

"S'okay," he said nonchalantly. "We'll talk right here, Ginny. You and me. Right...right here."

She sighed. "Speak up, then."

He gazed up at her beseechingly with clouded gray eyes. "Take me back, Ginny."

She closed her eyes. "Draco, we talked about this. You're not in your senses now. It's over."

He shook his head vigorously. "The only thing that's getting over's my patience, lady!" he snapped. "It's not over for you and me, Red. I..." his voice cracked. "I need you, Gin. I...I swear, I _never_ had anything going with Juliet, she was coming on to me, I..."

She gritted her teeth. "I'm done talking about this."

He stared at her for a moment, straightened. His voice was quiet. "I'm not done with you."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Listen!" He swayed again, stumbling before steadying himself, dragged a shaky hand through his hair. "It hurts not to be with you. It's like something's shattered...like something's broken." Mournfully, he patted his chest. "My heart's broken without you, Gin."

"What did you drink?" she asked skeptically, her mouth feeling very dry.

"I swear!" he exclaimed. "My heart _is_ broken! I'm broken-hearted..." Sniffling, he glanced down. "That's why I'm drunk. Because that's what sad people do...they get drunk."

She gazed at him, not being able to hide the tenderness in her eyes. She sighed.

"I bet if they ripped out my organs right now, you'd find my heart's broken, into pieces," he assured her petulantly. He winced. "Feels like that, anyway."

She spoke wearily. "Oh, all right, come in. I'll run a bath for you."

Grinning happily, he stumbled into her house, collapsing against her arms. He smirked. "I like you, Red."

"Yeah, thanks," she said crisply, heaving him in. "But I see you with another woman again, and I'll be doing the breaking next time."


	3. Hope

**A/N: **Inspired largely by the beautiful song by Coldplay, "Strawberry Swing". You'll find that some of the imagery is inspired by the song, too.

_People moving all the time  
Inside a perfectly straight line  
Don't you wanna just curve away?  
When it's such…  
It's such a perfect day..._

_

* * *

_

"I want a wedding with all the works," she said stoutly. "Flowers, friends, music and cake."

The grass was crisp green, fresh and crunchy beneath their bare feet. He couldn't seem to pin down the color of the sky - it flew above their heads in a blinding swirl, blue, midnight, sunset red...the only color he could see were the amber of her eyes.

"You'll have it all," he promised with a wry smirk. "And I'll get to see Potters face when I gloat about how I got his girl."

"Charlie will put cake on your face...and Mum will hug you, and cry her head off," she laughed, the sky still blurring over their heads, their footsteps echoing, each one, in perfect synchronicity, with a certain finality, in their minds.

"I can't wait," he said, his eyes gleaming with humor. "And I can take Charlie, I'm not worried." He glanced down at her. Her hand was warm in his, and he squeezed it fondly. He looked at their feet, walking together, in delightful circles, symmetry in disarray..._together. _The road they travelled had a bend at every turn, never extending into straight, endless paths.

"I can see it, can't you?" she looked up at him, smiling. "Our entire lives. Happy. Full." Her eyes welled, scorched, swam. "Together."

He gazed down at her seriously, the gray of his eyes darkening, and swallowed. "I see it so clear," he said quietly.

And he held her close, tight. The moments ticked - and he knew, at one point, the moment would freeze. Their footsteps would falter as the sky blackened, the grass would wilt and her smile would fade.

He would face eyes gleaming cerise eyes instead of dancing ones. Those eyes would be the last thing he saw, though it would be amber and fire he saw in his head.

And as they walked, he quaked inside, trembled. _She'll be safe,_ he thought desperately. _She had to be._

"Together forever," he promised in a whisper, his lips against her skin.

And they walked, jade blades twisting beneath their feet.


	4. Quills

_Malfoy,_

_I should probably call you by your first name—it's what I call you in my head. But I won't. Not until you call me by mine. And I know you never will. _

_I watch you. I guess you've noticed that already. You notice everything, I know. There's nothing that those piercing gray eyes of yours miss. You're with your mates, you're alone, your face is cold and brooding, your eyes shadowy and veiled, and I see you. I see you, and I don't know what to do. _

_Every time I look at you, Malfoy...I feel this clawing sensation in my chest. I feel like I can really _see_ you, and like I'm the only one who can. And you turn, and you look at me that way, and I feel like you can see me, too. _

_I know I'm just the littlest Weasley to you. The small girl with the carrot hair, Ron Weasley's crazy little sister. And I guess I try not to care about that. But every time you look at me, I feel warm inside, I feel like I mean something. Not to you. I know I mean nothing to you. I just feel like I have meaning, in some way. _

_There's nothing I can do. You'll laugh at this letter, you'll crumple it up. I don't care. There's no way I can tell you anything face-to-face—there's no way I can reach you. But there's only so much a girl with a quill can do. Every quill runs out after awhile, and so will mine, no matter the magic in our lives. _

_And so, I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy. We'll glance at each other again, and we'll walk right past each other. The cycle continues. That's how it's always going to be. _

_GW_

**oooo**

_Ginny: _

_Meet me at the Astronomy Tower, at 8. Don't be late. _

_I'm Draco to you._

_I'll be waiting. _


	5. Doorway

"How the heck am I supposed to get through to you, Ginny?" he demanded, and she could see the frustration, the mixture of pain and anger, glinting in his gray eyes. "Every time I try, you just slam a door in my face!"

She crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "I know you too well to let you open up my doors, Malfoy."

He paused, shut his eyes, pinched his nose, breathing deeply. When he opened his eyes, they were open, desperate. She swallowed.

"Ginevra, I've tried everything. I asked you to meet me," he said quietly, his voice strained, "and you didn't come. I sent you letters, and you never replied. I tried to _speak_ to you—you never listened. What do you expect me to do?"

"Give up," she said. "Sure. You told me many times. About how I'm different. How you've never met anyone like me before. How you're not as bad as you seem." She turned her hard, amber eyes on him. "It makes no difference to me, your words, Malfoy."

His eyes sparkled, face pale with frustration. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, inhaled deeply.

Before she knew it, he'd moved, so fast, and he had her against the wall. He stared into her eyes, his own piercing, striking her, dazzlingly gray.

"I love you," he said through his teeth. "I love you."

There. He'd said it. And she froze, stared up at him in shock, her entire being seeming to glow. Then he kissed her. Crushed his lips to hers demandingly, angrily, opening them up to him by force. With surprising strength, she pushed him away, and he looked at her in shock, eyes flashing before he veiled them, trying to calm himself.

Her eyes were suddenly swimming, and she looked vulnerable, lost. She smiled shakily at him.

"I need to think about this," she whispered. "I think you just broke in and kicked open my doors."

And as he stared as she bit her lip, turned, and walked away, her footsteps small, her eyes burning. How could she fight him over feelings that didn't want to be fought?


	6. Breathless

_Her lips were honey and spice, her breathing was erratic, butterfly wings._

_Fighting his smirk, the little glow of awe in his chest, he whispered, "Ginny. Breathe." _

_She glanced up at him with dancing eyes. "Oh, Draco. You make me a little...breathless." And he laughed, said, "Naturally." _

_Running to the woods, grass buckling under their feet, fingers trailing across the milky boughs of trees; he could hear her excited, winded laughter._

_"You need to tone up, Gin,' he said playfully. She rolled her eyes, grinned as she gasped a little._

_"What can I say? You take my breath away." _

_Watching her sleep, her lashes fanning her cheeks. He felt ridiculously emotional. He reached out to touch her face, and as he did, her breathing stopped, faltered. It was like she knew, even in her dreams. _

_He swallowed, his eyes darkening, drew away the finger. _

_His fingers twining in her hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her neck._

_"So," he teased huskily, "am I making you breathless now?"_

_She looked up at him with eyes that were suddenly more beautiful than he could stand. "Draco," she said quietly. "As long as you're alive, you'll make me breathless." _

Shaking slightly, he crouched down now, staring with hollow eyes at how she lay, cold, pristine and lovely.

_Still so beautiful,_ he thought, his breath hitching. Her hair fanned out beneath her head, ripples of fire, a small, wistful smile curving her lips.

It was like the air froze around him, congealed, not letting any moment of this escape. But what he priced most of all was already a whisper in the wind.

He wanted to touch her again. He reached out, with a hand that wasn't as smooth or steady as it used to be. He touched her face, thumb running across her velvety, cold cheek, her soft, sweet lips, caressing her eyelids.

"I'm here, Gin," he whispered, the spear sinking into his heart. "And you're still breathless."

_She laughed merrily. "Remember, Draco. As long as you're alive, you'll take my breath away." _


	7. Pain

"You have no idea the what I'm feeling, what I'm going through!" she proclaimed hysterically, blowing her nose into her handkerchief.

Draco scowled at the redhead, sitting against the wall, _crying_. Why did little girls have to cry all the time, anyway?

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley, you're going through jack _shit,_" he said disgustedly. "Now get up and go to your common room before someone sees you."

"Harry doesn't love me at all!" she said pathetically. "Oh, the _pain..._"

"Potter is a big fat idiot," Draco said knowingly. "And you Gryffindors are sissies. Pain. Oh, please." He snorted elegantly. "Spare me."

"You don't know what feelings _are,_ Malfoy!" she cried. "It hurts so much to love and not be loved back!"

"Pain is for the weak. For girls," he clarified haughtily. "This whole thing is stupid."

He glanced around warily, hoping no one _was_ witness to this idiotic scene. He didn't even know why he was still here, except he couldn't seem to leave the Weasley girl alone here, bawling her head off.

"Everyone feels pain," Ginny stated bitterly, swiping at her red nose. "Even you."

"God, Weasley!" Draco shook his head exasperatedly. "You're so pathetic. All this..._stupid stuff..._pain, fear. We don't feel that stuff, because we're strong. Unlike you," he added with a superior sniff. This was exactly why girls annoyed him sometimes. They were so _whiny._

Ginny glared at him with her big, teary eyes for a moment. "You don't feel pain?" she asked once, giving him a speculative look.

"I told you. Of course not."

"Come here, Malfoy. Come here."

He rolled his eyes. What did the wench want now? He'd really better get going before someone saw him. He drew closer, looking mildly contemptuous. "What is it, Weasley?"

Scowling, she swung back her fist and punched him in the face.

Draco leapt back. "Ow," he said in horror, clutching his nose. "That hurt, you fool!"

"Pain," she said loftily.

He rolled his eyes.


	8. Test

**A/N: **The first non-DG or Lucius fic I've written in AGES. I don't think I've even written anything but DG. But "Test" made me think of Hermione...not very sure about this one, but here it is. ^_^

* * *

When Hermione saw his grinning, redheaded form across the street, she thought she'd been prepared. She'd gone over everything in her head already, and she _seemed_ confident about it.

"Mione!" He greeted her, grinning broadly. "Don't worry, I'm not turning your hair green this time."

"Hi, Fred." She gave a small smile, observing how his eyes were twinkling, so blue.

"So, what're you doing in Diagon Alley, anyway?" Fred winked. "Let me see...you couldn't be buying more _books_, could you?" He fingered her bulging bag.

She smiled. "You know me very well." Her heart was pounding. _You can do it,_ she told herself. _This is simple, like a practical exam. You know the theory, and facts, so everything should come perfectly. _

Without warning, she pushed him against the walls of the alley, until she could see how clear his eyes were, how soft his lips looked.

"Whoa, Hermione..." Fred cleared his throat. "What's going on?"

She bit her lip. "I'm trying something."

Fred stared at her, the soft brown eyes and chestnut ringlets of her. Hermione Granger. Wow. He'd imagined this thousands of times, but to have it really happen...Well, it beat Puking Pastilles, at any rate.

He could gloat about it to George, make Ron mad. But wait, it hadn't even _happened_ yet, he was getting ahead of himself...

Smiling softly, she leant in to kiss him. Her lips were soft, determined, almost bossy—all things he loved about her. Her hand twisted through his tousled red hair, and she watched his eyes flash and burn in front of her.

All too quickly, she pulled away. She was smiling widely, eyes shining, her cheeks glowing. Fred felt a little like glowing himself. He felt like he was on fire. God, he loved that girl.

"Excellent," she said happily. "I _was_ prepared. I think I'd give it a full score, really."

He took a moment to steady his breathing, shoved his hands into his pockets. "You talk about this like it's a test you wrote," he observed wryly, his voice still a little hoarse.

"Oh, it was a test." She tugged at his collar mischievously. "Except I wasn't writing it. You were."


	9. Drink

He was in the mood for Ginevra Weasley.

He leaned back in his chaise, enjoying the whisper of leather beneath him. Soft golden lights glowed in his room, glinting off the delicate crystal flute of champagne he held loosely between his long, pale fingers.

He'd always had a very intriguing image in mind, instilled by the memories of his own father. To stand, proud and beautiful, in the sunlight. His palms would be filled with water, and not a drop would leak through his beautiful hands. He would bend to the thirsty children, a gracious smile on his lips, and he would say, _drink. Drink. _And, thirst quenched, they would surround him, look up at him with adoration and gratitude.

He'd offered Ginevra something more than water.

_Where is she?_ he wondered. The champagne he sipped was his favorite—made from Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, with a dash of fruit, the delicacy of rose petals, the fragrance of sandalwood. He tasted it with some satisfaction. The amber of it reminded him of her eyes.

They had fought yesterday. But, somehow, he enjoyed their little arguments—the sarcastic bite of her tongue rejuvenated him, amused him. It was all part of the fire and gold that was Ginevra. He laughed softly to himself. It was surprising, how often he thought of her, that young, redheaded little spitfire.

He had been expecting her about this time. He hoped she wouldn't let him down. Again, he frowned, stared absently out the cracks of sky he could see through the blinds.

She'd once said that she could always tell when he was upset. _"You just sit there at your desk,_" she'd observed. _"You look out your window, and you are indifferent when you speak to me. There's a distance about you, and you always have something in your hands, which you keep rolling between your fingers. It's mostly a drink._"

Well, he was a little upset now. It still unnerved him, how much he cared about her. But she said she would be here...why was she keeping him waiting?

Lucius sipped again at his champagne. The sky was a chilling, bitter midnight, no stars or moon to lighten the metallic, endless reality of it. The crystal was cool between his fingers, and he sighed.

He was very much in the mood for Ginevra Weasley.


	10. Anger

**A/N: **This is my first time writing something like this. I really like it. Tell me how I did, okay?

* * *

_"Oh, Luna,_" she'd once sighed, glancing away from her friend's sympathetic blue eyes to brush away a tear. _"There's nothing for us...there's nothing he and I have in common." _

Luna had smiled. _"Oh, but there is. The world's a big, funny game, and both of you hate the cards that you hold."_

There was a ferocity to the way he pushed into her that night. When his silver hair brushed her skin as their frenzied dance rose in speed, their breaths mingling into angry whispers in the quiet, every glowing strand had a razor edge on her delicate skin.

Her teeth cut into him, and he bit down a groan as he forced, danced, setting fire to the forest. The lights were red, spinning. When she cried his name, her voice struck him like a whiplash on his skin.

They danced, and she held him, fingers digging into his shoulder, their lips locked passionately, loving and bruising. There was a violence to the picture of them, pale bodies twisting in the sheets, silver melting into tendrils of fire, thunder shaking lonely grounds.

When she fell back into the pillows, gasping, burning with heat and shivering with cold, he met her gaze silently. His eyes were piercing, unwavering, molten metal shimmering in light. She met him with fireworks and falling stars, and said his name once more, possessively, fiercely.

Thunder growled again outside, a flash of lightning sending a white-hot wash of heat across the room.

_"You hate the cards that you hold...but you pause, you look at each other, and you go on playing anyway." _


	11. Dreams

"I've been thinking," Luna said dreamily, as they gazed up at the trees that towered above their heads. Her fingers caressed the earthy, thick bark of the one that rose high in front of her—it had gleaming emerald leaves, chocolate boughs, from which golden mangoes dripped.

She glanced at her tall, dark companion.

"When I was a child, I'd look up at this tree, just like this," she remembered, smiling faintly. "There'd be so many pretty Ingleweavers fluttering near the fruit. Ingleweavers do that when the fruit is sweet," she added. "It would make me so hungry."

He grinned, leant casually, with his easy grace, against a sloping willow. "Always did love mangoes," he said reminiscently. "At our house, there were never much trees around. Everything was either expensive or useless. Or both," he added, frowning. "Father got us fruit, imported from other countries...India, Mexico, Italy. It just wasn't as much fun."

He sighed, smirked self-deprecatingly. He glanced at her with extraordinarily tender dark eyes. "You must find this pretty weird. Me, Blaise Zabini, Slytherin, here in the woods talking about mangoes."

"Oh, not at all," she answered airily, still gazing up at the tree. Her pale blue eyes glowed—the Ingleweavers were so excited! The mangoes must be so sweet. "I think it's all right, really. Everyone's got something in common, haven't they? Regrets...dreams..." she smiled. "A fondness for pumpkin pie."

He leant away from the tree, grinning amusedly, dusted himself off. "I don't like pumpkin pie."

"That's because you're special, Blaise," she said matter-of-factly. The mangoes glowed, golden and juicy. "That's why I love you, you know."

"Aw." Blaise smirked wickedly, through his heart warmed up her words. "I feel so appreciated."

She laughed. "Blaise," she said, still staring at the mangoes dreamily. "Will you get me some pebbles? I want to throw some mangoes down."

"No magic?" he questioned skeptically.

"No," she answered, turning to him with a bright smile. "It's more fun this way."

And, grinning, shaking his head, he trudged through the bushes, searching the grounds. It was fun and mangoes they would have, then.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I'm aware mangoes aren't exactly in plenty in England unless they're imported. But magic can do wonders, you know. u_u Mangoes just seemed the perfect fruit for Luna.


	12. Puzzle

"Mommy," the little girl asked suddenly, gazing up at her redheaded mother, "why do girls like boys?"

Ginny laughed. "I don't know, darling. Why do you ask?"

Cecilia, who was sitting cross legged on the ground, twirled a blonde strand of hair thoughtfully between her fingers. She frowned in elegant distaste. "Boys are loud. And icky. And...stupid. But...cousin Victoire seems to like them so much. Why?"

Draco raised an amused eyebrow at his daughter, but refrained from answering.

Ginny turned laughing eyes on her husband. "Well, Cecilia, I fell in love with your father when he was a boy. I still don't know why I like him."

Draco rolled his eyes, and Ginny giggled. Of course Draco would be too dignified to say anything on the subject.

"Actually," drawled Draco, to Ginny's surprise, "I don't get why boys like girls, either."

"Girls are very clever!" protested Cecilia indignantly. "Now, Daddy is a very nice man. But other boys are such idiots."

"Well, I don't understand the draw in girls, either," Draco said, a competitive glint in his gray eyes as he leant forward to survey his daughter, a smirk hovering about his lips. "I mean, apart from all the hot sex—"

"_Draco_!" hissed Ginny.

Draco grinned. "Well, apart from _that_, there really is nothing to women, is there?"

"And there's nothing to boys but shallow thoughts and hot biceps," returned Ginny defiantly, leaning over to smack him on the shoulder, to which he snickered.

"I still don't understand why boys like girls," Cecilia said sulkily, pouting primly. "I suppose I'll never figure it out, will I?"

Ginny slipped her hand in Draco's, squeezed affectionately as she shook her head in mock seriousness.

"No, darling," she sighed wearily, as Draco gave a snort of laughter, "you never will."


	13. Discrepant

**A/N: **I had a lot of trouble with this one, and personally, I really don't like it. Hope you do, though. ^_^

* * *

"The—the Cannons _lost_?" Ginny said in horror. "They actually...lost?"

Draco grinned evilly. "Falcons squashed them like flies."

"How can you look so smug!" cried Ginny, wringing her hands. "The Cannons _lost_! Gosh, I have to tell Charlie!"

"Too bad you missed the game," drawled Draco. "Falcons scored two goals in four minutes...great stuff."

Ginny looked agonized. "But...the Cannons! Against the _Falcons_! That just _sucks, _Draco!"

"The Cannons are a piece of trash," commented Draco disparagingly.

"The Falcons are simply _terrible_! They're like...a whole team made only of Crabbe and Goyle, for Merlin's sakes!"

"Now, that's enough," said Draco, annoyed. "I've always thought the Cannons a rather useless team. And they have _girl_ beaters—which ridiculous team has _girl_ beaters?"

"What's wrong with girl beaters?" challenged Ginny indignantly. "You're being sexist and criticizing the best team ever in the same sentence!"

"Girls shouldn't be beaters!" said Draco disgustedly. "Merlin, Ginny, I thought _you_ would know better! Oh, and let's not forget the _orange_ robes."

"With that shade of green, the Falcons look like little bits of flying moss."

Draco was now thoroughly irked. "The Cannons Seeker—that bloke with the stupid goatee? Well, the snitch was circling his head for an entire ten minutes before he even noticed."

"Well, Rendrick? Your useless Keeper?" Ginny crossed her arms defiantly. "He can't seem to save anything unless it falls into his arms and says, 'hold me'."

"Ginny." Draco shook his head, fixed a superior smirk on his face. "You obviously know nothing about good Quidditch. There's no point in us arguing pointlessly over pure obviousness."

"_I_ know nothing about good Quidditch?" she repeated furiously. "You prat! We'll _never_ agree on Quidditch, because all _you_ know about is money and how to take care of your stupid hair!"

Draco blinked incredulously, stood up, eyes flashing. "Shut up," he said coldly.

She glared at him before turning away. "Gladly. What's the point in arguing with ignorance?"

"Fine." He shot her a distasteful look before stalking gracefully out of the room.

She stared after him, cried, "_Fine_!" and stormed in the opposite direction.


	14. Holiday

**A/N: **Slightly AU - Remus died later on here.

* * *

Ginny remembered the last time she'd seen her grandfather. She'd only been two. She'd stared around, confused and curious, as everyone cried, hugging Grandpa, and so many tearful goodbyes lingered in the air. Grandpa had kissed Ginny once on her cheek, and then paused at the doorway for one moment, before walking out of all their lives.

She knew now that he had gone out to fight at the Ministry, and he had been killed at the wand of a Death Eater.

But when she'd curiously asked her mother as to where Grandpa was, and when he would return, Molly had replied quietly, saying that Grandpa had gone on a lovely holiday. It was a beautiful place, with love and laughter and happy times. Grandpa would be so happy there that he would stay on.

Ginny remembered wanting to go on the holiday, too. But then, she'd forgotten, as childhood passed and memories of Grandpa blurred into nostalgic memories.

Ginny shook herself out of the daze now as her little son prodded her arm insistently.

"Mommy," Xavier whispered, prodding his mother, "I miss Uncle Remus."

Ginny swallowed. Draco exchanged a glance with her from across the room, and his face paled.

Ginny gazed down at the big gray eyes of her son, smiled.

_Uncle Remus was killed,_ she wanted to cry. _He was brave, he fought for us all, and he was killed._

"Uncle Remus..." She touched her son's cheek softly. "Uncle Remus is in a beautiful place, darling. He's so happy there, with all the people he loves. Uncle Remus has gone on a holiday, and we'll never know when he'll come back."

"Maybe we can go there!" suggested Xavier hopefully.

"Oh, we will." She kissed his cheek. "We'll all go there someday, on that holiday, and be together forever. Won't we, Draco?"

Draco swallowed, nodded. Ginny held back a tear.

"It's a holiday, darling," she whispered. "And we all have to wait, until we can go there. It's a lovely holiday."


	15. Mirrors

Mirrors never lied, or so they said. But Narcissa didn't believe it.

_"I can see myself so clearly, in your eyes,_" she'd once told Lucius, on the day before her wedding. _"I can see myself reflected in them, and I feel so beautiful."_

She smiled self-deprecatingly now as she brushed her silvery hair, gazing at her own reflection in the ornate full-length mirror in front of her.

Her eyes had delicate lavender shadows, smoking the icy blue eyes, with their long, silver lashes. She touched her delicate, regal cheek, pearly white, with that sheen of color. Her lips were curved into the smallest of smiles, the ruby red of them contrasting sharply with her ivory skin. Her hair fell around her face, a halo of silver.

His eyes, clear as mirrors, had told her he loved her. That she was truly beautiful, that she was his, would always be his.

She twirled a strand of glimmering hair slowly between her fingers, smile fading as she stared at her reflection.

_Mirrors never lie. _

Her reflection confirmed her loveliness. She was a picture, a carefully constructed image, flawless, perfect. The mirror reflected this. Didn't it...? Why did it feel like the mirror had shattered, into cruel little shards?

She heard when he entered the room. She felt it when his arms slipped around her waist, and slowly, he turned her around to face him.

"Darling," he crooned. "You look lovely tonight."

She stared up, into those cold gray eyes, so steady, so clear. Like lustrous metal, hard and smooth, beautiful. She could see her image reflected in those eyes, as he smiled graciously down at her, touched her cheek, like a boy fingering a toy at a store.

"Thank you," she murmured, stepping away slowly.

She didn't ask him where he had been, and she looked away from his eyes. Looking into them confirmed that the image in the mirror was long gone, glittering piece of glass lying somewhere, neglected.

She knew exactly where he had been, so she didn't ask. She'd known for years.

And for the millionth time, she wished that once, at least once...a mirror would lie.


	16. Seeking Peace

"Ginevra."

She smiled up at him, not noticing his expression. "Hi, Draco. How was work?"

"Spare me the crap. Do you think you're very clever, behaving this way?"

She frowned, pushed a strand of hair from her face. "What did I do?"

"You know bloody well what you've done. There will be consequences, Ginevra."

Her eyes flashed. "Would you explain to me what's going on, Draco?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Now this is unfair! Either _tell_ me what's up, or—or go drown yourself!"

He gazed at her coldly. "How convenient."

"That's _enough_!" she shouted, taking a step toward him. "You have no right to—to _talk_ like that! You can't just come here and start _yelling_ at me, like I did some crime!"

Draco hid a satisfied smirk. "You know what you did, Ginevra."

"You're _such_ an asshole, really, Draco, I might drown you _myself_! I have no idea why—"

He was smirking largely now, but she didn't seem to notice, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, relaxed as he watched the show.

"And let me tell you something," she concluded fiercely, "next time you speak to me this way I'll _punch_ you on the face, and you'll have to make excuses for_ that_ to the bloody tabloids!"

"Are you finished?" he asked amusedly.

"I am _so_ finished! With _your_—" she paused suddenly, frowned at his highly entertained expression. "Why are you smiling?"

He smirked broadly. "I love it when I get what I want."

She looked a little dangerous. "What do you mean?"

"It's so easy to get you riled up," he said, stifling a snicker. "Now I'm in an _excellent_ mood. Thanks, Gin." He ruffled her hair affectionately. "You're exactly what I needed to get rid of that headache."

She glared at him furiously, spitting fire from her eyes.

"By the way," he said playfully as he strolled into the kitchen, "I had a lousy day at work. Doesn't matter now, though."


	17. Questioning

You can say too much; you can leave too much unsaid. You can question everything in your life, over and over, in a frantic search for the answer...or you can let everything slip, like water, through your fingers; pretend you know the answer, until you start believing it yourself.

When he waited for her at the library, and she never came, his mind buzzed with questions.

_Where were you?_ He wanted to rage._ Who were you with? Why didn't you come? How could you not come, when you know I was waiting? _

_Do you know how it feels, to even imagine that you might have slipped away from me? _

But he said nothing, his gray eyes betraying nothing, his voice cold and disapproving, and as her eyes flashed in defiance, he simply turned and walked away. The possible answers made his head spin with panic.

But the light always cleared the clouds. When he gently pushed away a strand of her hair to gaze into her lovely eyes, when she whispered in his ears that she loved him. When they held hands and ran away from the shadows. When she walked down the aisle, glowing in white, and leant in to kiss him.

"Are you happy?" he'd asked her.

"Yes," she'd answered simply, and he'd smiled. It felt so good to know the answer, know its accuracy shining out of her eyes.

He came home late one night. She'd been terrified, not knowing, just not _knowing_ with complete certainty, only being able to guess.

"Where have you been?" she'd demanded.

The accusation lurking beneath her voice stung him, sparked in his eyes. "Busy," he'd answered curtly, and he had stalked away, leaving her gazing after him with tear-tracks shimmering on her face.

Even when light fades, there's always another flare of it waiting.

A little bundle of rosy warmth, and flailing, tiny, hands and feet.

"What shall we call her?" she asked joyously.

He cradled the baby gently against his chest, his eyes scorching, awed, his voice hoarse. "How can she be so beautiful?" he murmured softly.

Questions can go in circles, in sharp, cruel angles; questions can soar to the sky. Questions sometimes say more, a lot more, than the answers ever will.


	18. Red

He gave her the roses he'd bought, grinning broadly.

"Ooh," she giggled, smelling them, "you like pink roses, then?"

"You know what they say," he said with a little smirk. "Pink roses are for...new love, or whatever." He leant forward, winked flirtatiously. "I believe in meaningful gestures."

"You ruined that beautiful line." She shook her head. "The actual saying is that...pink roses are for love hopeful and expectant. White roses are for love dead or forsaken..." Her amber eyes grew suddenly intense. "Red roses are for love triumphant."

He snorted. "I'm sorry, but that's just poetic rot."

She raised her eyebrows. "But you got me the roses."

Somehow, his throat had tightened, and he'd smirked tightly, not knowing what to say of that.

Many times he'd found himself gazing at her, thinking that she was so beautiful. He was almost afraid he was coming on too strong.

"Will I see you again?" he asked quietly as he dropped her off.

"You will," she said playfully, "if you keep your eyes open." She'd pecked a little kiss on his lips before she left.

He shook his head now, frowning at his stupidity, as he walked down the street. The setting sun cast a rosy glow over the pavements.

It didn't matter anymore, though it used to...that he looked at himself in the mirror ever morning, and wanted to look away. That he sometimes felt no one on earth really cared about him.

Now every time he thought he might see her again, every time he searched the crowds in a sort of frenzy, looking for a flash of red hair, his head had room for nothing else.

Or his heart, for that matter, he mused. He was pathetic.

But he'd never forget that first time. Her dress had been a lovely, deep, crimson red. Her hair had been rivulets of fire, beautiful titian curls dancing around her face. And as she'd kissed him, he'd caught the blush on her cheeks before she turned away. Soft, ivory skin stained by delicate red.

Some famous Muggle had once said that red was the ultimate cure for sadness. Well, when he shut his eyes lately, all he saw was red. And he wasn't sad...not anymore.


	19. Happiness

Ginny smiled sleepily when she felt her husband's warm, lean body slide into bed with her. She rolled over when she felt him finger her hair tentatively, wondering if she was asleep.

She couldn't see his face except for the faint glint of silver of his eyes. "Hi," she said huskily. "You worked late today. Bad boy."

She could almost _hear_ his answering smirk. "How was your day?"

"Good." She touched his face, felt him tilt his head to kiss her hand softly. "Our son is growing into such a brat, though."

He laughed softly. "What did he do today?"

"I had to chase him around for nearly half an hour to get him to eat his vegetables."

Draco leant in to kiss the tip of her nose, and she felt the warmth of his laughter. She snuggled deeper into the blankets, and put her arms around his neck fondly.

"I never liked vegetables as a child," Draco murmured reminiscently.

"That's because you were a brat, too." Her hands were moving slowly up his bare chest, and she felt him shiver slightly, almost fiercely pull her closer.

"Oh, yeah." He snorted quietly as his lips grazed the skin of her neck. "I can totally out-brat our son, you know."

She giggled, cradled his face and pulled it closer, brushing her lips tantalizingly over the corner of his.

"How was your day?"

"Boring," he whispered.

For a few quiet moments, they simply held each other, their breaths whispering in the quiet.

"You know what, though," Draco said finally. She saw the flash of his grin, and snuggled into his chest, giggling.

"What?"

He took her face tenderly in his hands. "The day's not over yet," he murmured silkily. "And now it's going to get a lot better."

He then proceeded to draw her closer and meet her lips in a intense, long kiss.

There were still three hours to midnight, after all.


	20. Family

Marriage wasn't just two people sealing a bond; it was also a union of families.

Ginny accepted that it had to be hard for Draco, to learn to love other 'bloodtraitors' (she'd tried her best to squish that out of him), to join in the craziness of her own family. Ginny thought family was like fudge; fairly sweet, with a few nuts.

It was harder, in her opinion, to become part of _his_ family.

Narcissa glided alongside Ginny, and they walked across the marble corridors, the cathedral-like rooms with chandeliers sparkling like diamonds, the hundreds of elves and servants there to cater to her every need.

"This is the old ballroom," said Draco's beautiful mother airily in her silvery voice, gently opening a door to a humongous room with gleaming, pearly floors, towering, circular walls, and a simply gigantic candelabra hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

"The _old_ ballroom?" questioned Ginny.

Narcissa waved a dismissive, beautifully manicured hand. "Oh, we hardly use this old place anymore. Not since the _new_ ballroom."

"Oh."

"This is the gallery," Narcissa announced, as they walked past a long corridor full of life-sized portraits of different, arrogant-looking people.

"This is our Great-Aunt Jevelera. She was married to Sir Knightfing II...this is Lucius's great grandfather, Sir Dominico...he was well-known for owning more than half of London, and having seven wives, all of whom were lovely...Aunt Cierafina...Uncle Georgio..."

"Wow," Ginny said finally.

Narcissa paused, turned around gracefully to eye Ginny expectantly. "What is it, dear?"

"This is amazing."

Narcissa smiled graciously. "Thank you, we are rather proud of our heritage. It does have obvious superiority to...others." She gazed at Ginny for a moment before turning away again, and continuing, "And this one is Lady Desdemona..."

"Are there a lot more?" Ginny interrupted desperately.

"Yes, actually. We have a lot of ancestors...like any other family." Narcissa gave a delicate little laugh. "Why, how big is your gallery, then?"

She waited, a certain amusement in her eyes, a polite smile on her lips.

"We don't have a gallery," Ginny said stoutly. She grinned. "But we do have a ghoul..."


	21. Divorce

"—I thought he was bad enough at school! He's even worse now! Rude, insensitive, can't even wash his own dishes himself—"

"Is that what you want?" drawled her blond, indignant husband scathingly. "Some sort of puppy catering to your every need? Blaise, mate, you have _no_ idea how difficult it is living with this woman. She's temperamental and childish—and _goodness_, her _mother_—"

"Don't you _dare_, Draco Malfoy!" growled Ginny fiercely. "Don't you dare insult my family!" She turned vehemently to their bemused spectator. "See, Blaise? What I have to deal with?"

Blaise simply stared at the heated couple silently. Draco and Ginny glared at him expectantly; he was like their unofficial marriage counsellor, for Merlin's sakes! He was supposed to _say_ something!

"You know," said Blaise finally, "one of these days you two are going to kill each other."

"You never come to the kitchen," Ginny told Draco, "I have full access to the knives!"

Blaise's black eyes were speculative, a suggestion of a smirk lingering about his lips. "I have a thought," he said slowly. "See, you two...you have major problems. You realize that?"

Draco snorted at his wife. "Yeah, well, _she's_ got the mental problem!"

"That's not what I mean," interrupted Blaise patiently. "Have you ever considered...a break? Sort things out, and if that doesn't work...divorce?"

Draco and Ginny stared at him in surprise. A _divorce_?

It was Ginny who broke the silence with a loud snort. She glanced at her watch. "You know, Draco, it's kind of late."

"Don't worry, love, the restaurant doesn't close for another five hours," replied Draco. "But we should get going."

The couple rose, gave Blaise a look of mild concern.

"Thanks, Blaise," said Ginny kindly before she sailed out of his room. "You tried to help..."

Draco simply rolled his eyes at his friend before leaving. Blaise could hear them saying as they left, "Divorce? _Us_? Ridiculous."

They didn't see Blaise's smug grin as he leant back in his chair, satisfied.

"People in love are so gullible," he murmured to himself, grinning. "All it takes is a little emotional manipulation."

* * *

**A/N: **I kind of despise this one. *waves hand dismissively*

Lia: I finally tried managing my dialog attributive problem - unfortunately, I remembered to do this only after I'd finished writing, so it's STILL messy. I'll get better, though. ^_^


	22. Flying

The Manor had a tall, austere sort of ceiling; people said it was beautiful. Draco supposed it probably was. The rooms were dome-shaped, like cathedrals.

It was supposed to be beautiful, but it only made him feel trapped. Stuck to the ground, unable to reach the height. He'd never reach it, because the ceiling was what enclosed him; the ceiling stopped him from reaching the sky.

So he'd stare up at the ceiling, so high, so far away; he'd feel the walls rising up around him, and he'd feel so dissatisfied...so suffocated.

Everything in his life tied him down. Not to say that he didn't like his life. But everything turned out to be a promise he had to keep, a favor he had to oblige, a destiny he had to fulfill. A mask he had to wear.

That's why he loved flying. Defying gravity. Gravity tied thousands of people down, but he escaped, he soared to those heights. His heart would thump, blood fly to his cheeks, his eyes would sparkle; what mattered when you were hundred feet into the sky, amidst the clouds?

He'd thought that was the only escape. What could make his spirits soar better than soaring above the treetops?

That was when he met her.

First, he when he stared into her beautiful brown eyes, he thought he was trapped again. Trapped by what couldn't be, by her perception of him, by rejection, by himself.

But she threw her arms around him, and pressed her lips to his. And his world went up in a blaze of fire, his heart shot up into the sky like a bullet. He opened his eyes, and was shocked to find he still on the ground, still standing.

"I'm in love with you," he said in surprise.

She grinned. "Yeah. I swept you right off your feet."

And she was right, more literally than she could've imaged.


	23. Drowning

It sucked to be Draco Malfoy's roommate. Ginny scowled viciously at the blond, rather gorgeous (though Ginny would rather eat mud than admit this) man, tangled in his blankets, sleeping soundly.

What a jerk he was! What _nerve_ he had!

She'd been having a very pleasant dream last night—something involving Prince Charming, a white horse, and some steamy sex. That stupid git just had to lean in and blow a trumpet loudly in her ear.

When she awoke with a jolt, she'd seen the arse stand at the foot of her bed, smirking smugly. "Good morning," he'd said simply, before walking away, snickering under his breath.

Now here _he_ was, sleeping so deeply. There was a suggestion of a smirk on his lips as he slept, his hair adorably tousled.

He looked _far_ too comfortable for Ginny's liking. As the idea bloomed like a beautiful flower in her head, Ginny gave a rather evil grin.

She quickly ran to the bathroom, grabbing a bucket from the kitchen. It took her a couple of minutes, but she did it; she filled the bucket to the brim with icy cold water, and, huffing, carried it to his bedroom.

"Wake up, darling," she said happily before heaving the water on the sleeping blond. The water crashed down.

"MERLIN, I'M DROWNING!" Draco yelped in a decidedly unmanly voice, shooting out of the bed in terror. "I'M DROWNING!"

He stood crouched, shivering violently and glancing around, terrified, before his eyes slowly fixed on her triumphant face.

He cleared his throat. "So...er, I'm not drowning, then."

She savored the sight of him, dripping wet, flushed face. "This isn't the Pacific Ocean, Draco. It's the apartment you share with me."

"That wasn't funny," he snapped irritably, turning away warily to grab a towel.

"Believe me, it was." She smirked. "Oh," she added, before turning away, "if you really do drown at some point of time, you ought to improve your shout for help. You sound like a girl."

He simply swore violently at her and tore off his wet shirt.


	24. Bed

The wedding night wasn't just another night of sex; it was consecration of a promise, a night signifying that there were many such nights to come...and Ginny did _not_ want to spend it in the Malfoy Manor. She wanted to be ravaged slowly, passionately, in _privacy_, and not in a great large mansion.

"You have a beautiful house and all," she'd told Draco, "but _we_ are getting our own suite."

They'd escaped most of the traditions, thankfully. But Narcissa Malfoy put her dainty foot down—nay, placed it upon the ground gracefully—at one particular little point.

"The Malfoy bed," she said haughtily, standing near a gigantic, rosewood four-poster with elaborate velvet drapes and intricate carvings, "is part of our heritage. Every Malfoy spends the first night after their marriage in this bed. Son," she said, a steely glint in her eyes, turning to Draco, "you will not disappoint me on this."

Draco merely cleared his throat, said meekly, "Yes, mother." The steely glint was kind of scary.

And now, wedding finally over, Draco carried Ginny over the threshold, and they were now very excited to begin the ravaging.

"We're married!" Ginny sang happily as she undid the buttons of his shirt. He smirked, lips grazing her collarbone, his fingers pulling down her dress.

The candles were soft and pretty, the night warm and lovely. The large bed dominated the room, so imposing...but what was a bed? Just a bed.

Dreamily, Ginny fell back on the bed as Draco ran his hands gently over her arms, her hips.

"Just imagine, though," Ginny said softly. "It's kind of romantic, isn't it? Your mum and dad would've had their wedding night on this bed."

"Mmm." Draco's lips were now exploring the hollow of her throat.

"And your grandparents before that. And then your great-grandparents...and your great-great-grandparents..."

Draco froze. Ginny froze. They stared at each other warily. Moments ticked.

"What's happening?" Ginny wondered.

They stared at each other for another moment.

"It's the bed," they both said together decidedly. "It's the damn bed."

They promptly rolled onto the floor, to ravage each other in peace.


	25. Balloons

Ginny stared at herself in the mirror, fingered her swollen belly in despair. "Oh, Draco, look at me! I look so terrible. I'm perfectly round! Round!"

Draco groaned internally, but immediately went up to his wife, touched her face gently. "No, you're not," he said firmly. "You look like a beautiful, pregnant woman. Which is what you are, of course."

She shook away his hand. "Yeah, _thanks_ for telling me I look like I'm spawning a baby human being in my stomach, Draco."

He blinked at her. "But you are spawning a human baby in your stomach, love."

She stared up at him reproachfully, then sighed. "I suppose you're right. Oh, it's terrible. I love the baby, of course I do, but...I look such a fright."

He smiled at her. "It's just two more months, Ginny."

"So that's it!" she exclaimed vindictively. "You just _admitted_ that I'm ugly! I suppose I'm not _attractive_ to you anymore, now that you've _knocked me up_! You...you're just so _shallow, _Draco!"

Draco gritted his teeth, tried his best not to roll his eyes. "Ginevra, I never said anything of the sort, and I doubt anyone else will. You're just—"

"Enough!" she proclaimed hysterically. "Don't, Draco! Don't! I know exactly what you're thinking! Be honest, for once. Be honest. I look like a bloody balloon. A redheaded balloon." Her eyes filled with tears.

"You don't," Draco snapped, out of patience now. "Balloons are, in fact, much smaller. Unless of course, you're a hot-air balloon."

Ginny shrieked an expletive, turned around and flounced out of the room, furious.

Blaise entered the door from behind him, and observed the redhead's exit amusedly.

"Merlin, mate," he said in a low voice to Draco, who was staring after his wife stonily. "Our Ginny's pretty far off. She's beginning to resemble a bit of a balloon, isn't she?"

Draco turned to cast his friend an extremely withering look.

"Just saying," Blaise shrugged.


	26. Compressed

**If Lovesick Ginny Weasley Wrote A Dictionary**

**Word of the week: COMPRESS|k****ə****m****ˈ****pres|**

Verb  (often **be compressed**)

- Flatten by pressure; squeeze; press:

_The blades of grass beneath them flattened, compressed by their weight, as they rolled in delightful circles in the meadow, her hands clutching a handful of his hair as he parted her lips with his. _

_Her heart gave a particular little squeeze, like it was compressed by some sort of pressure, when he told her he loved her. _

- be squeezed or pressed together or into a smaller space

_He slammed the door of the broom closet behind him, grunting a little as he slammed her against the wall, compressed tightly in the small space, lips meeting, pressing together almost roughly as they embraced fiercely. _

_- _express in a shorter form; abridge

_To compress into less complicated, more concise form_—_gah, long story short_—_he is a heck of a kisser, and she's deeply in love with him._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: **OMG, I can't stand this one. *makes face* Forgive me for it and move along, okay?


	27. Reinvigorated

His lips were moving passionately against hers, his hands clenching around her hair as he tilted her head back to...well, kiss her more.

"Mmm...mmm, _Draco._ Draco!" Groaning slightly, she managed to push him away, and he stared at her indignantly, hair tousled, cheeks flushed.

"What?" he said, almost petulantly.

"It's late," Ginny said worriedly. "People will start wondering where I am, back at the Common Room. I _must_ go."

"You must _not_ go." Smirking slightly now, he drew closer to her again, confidently running a finger across her cheek. "Hang around, love."

"Hermione's getting nosy," Ginny fretted, swatting away his hand. He glared at her, but she ignored him. "It's almost midnight, if Filch catches me I'm _dead_."

"The night's still young, Gin." He planted a kiss at the tip of her nose, and she blushed, but met his gaze defiantly. She pushed him away again.

"I'm tired, Draco."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I am!" she protested. "I'm exhausted, I've had a _long_ day..."

A suggestion of another smirk lingered about his lips, but he drew away and shrugged nonchalantly.

"All right," he said. "Go on. I'll see you in..." He pretended to take a long look at his watch. "Around twenty-two hours. Meanwhile, I'm not very sleepy, so I'm sure some of my friends should still be awake for me to entertain myself." He frowned thoughtfully. "Pansy, for one, is a late sleeper. I hope she's still awake...or Daphne...hmm, that could be fun." He glanced at her again seriously. "Good night, Gin."

She stared at him for a long moment, color steadily rising in her cheeks, before she sighed, nearly pounced on him, knocking him to ground, and crushed her lips to his again.

"Not tired anymore, love?" he breathed when he could speak, raising an amused eyebrow. His eyes were wickedly pleased.

"Oh, no. Full energy." She grinned. "I'm sure I'll be fine for many hours _yet._"

Draco smirked smugly. It didn't take much to reinvigorate Ginny Weasley.


	28. Spilt Milk

Cleopatra was a haughty cat, and she thought she had every reason to be so. After all, she was a Malfoy cat. She sat regally by the fire, observing her surroundings.

She batted a bored eyelash when her redheaded mistress entered the room in some despair, followed by her blond husband.

"—I mean, I really expected it would go all right! I feel so guilty. Poor _Astoria..._what is she going to do now?"

The blond man patted her back consolingly. "Astoria'll be fine, Gin. She'll find someone else to break her heart over in two months, tops. Don't worry about it."

"But _I_ introduced her to the wanker! And he jilted her! On their _wedding_ day! Now, I know I'm not a big fan of Astoria, but I really do feel _responsible_, in some way..." the lady's eyes streamed as she lay her head on the man's chest, and he put an arm around her, holding her tightly.

Cleopatra yawned. Humans continued to bore her with their theatrics and emotions...she was getting hungry.

The man looked down at the wife with piercing eyes. "What's happened has happened," he said firmly. "It's _not_ your fault. There's no point crying over spilt milk, Ginny. It'll be fine."

Cleopatra's ears pricked up, and stretching slowly, she stood. Milk was the only interesting part of this inane conversation, and now she really _was_ hungry.

As the redhead smiled up at her husband, Cleopatra haughtily flounced out of the room, gracefully running into the kitchen.

She sniffed the air delicately for a moment, quickly locating the jug on the stove. It smelt warm, and Cleopatra was pleased.

Cleopatra leapt lightly onto the counter. She took a moment to peek into the jug, eyeing the creamy milk with pleasure. With a delicate paw, she pushed the jug to the floor, where it made a little clatter; humans were not observant when in their melodramatic little moods, and Cleopatra was sure she wouldn't be noticed.

The milk flowed thickly from the jug, forming a large, delicious puddle on the floor, and Cleopatra jumped down lithely. She nosed the spilt milk gleefully, before starting to primly lap it up.


	29. Contempt

Ginny always thought Draco was a mean snob. Of course, she later realized this was a gross understatement. But Draco Malfoy did truly seem to believe, in some way, that he was superior to the entire human race. He almost literally looked down on everyone, and there was a smugness, a sort of mockery, in his smile...like he was saying, "I'm amused. I'm amused by every one of you."

The way he walked, with that tight, controlled grace...the small, sneering smiles. Even his respect was an almost indirect insult. It was as though Draco Malfoy believed that the sun shined out of his arse, and couldn't bear to have anyone blind to it.

Ginny didn't like snobs. When he approached her confidently, to jot her down as the next conquest in the long line of conquests behind her, the main reason she shrieked expletives and stormed away from him was to wipe that very confidence from his face.

But as his smirk faded, as the mockery in his eyes dimmed, to sincere, shocked emotion, she found herself understanding.

She supposed, in some way, that when everything in the world turned against you, every eye glared at you, the most you could do was try to put yourself above it all, to hold in contempt those that hated you.

In truth, Draco Malfoy sort of hated himself. He hated that others hated him. In truth, it didn't take a rainy night to make him shiver, cold, to wrap his arms around himself and hold himself together.

Which is why she warmed him. She put her arms around him, and warmed him, until the shudders subsided, until he stared at her with honest, beautiful eyes that for the first time...well, recognized that the sun _didn't_ shine out of his arse - it shone brilliantly in the sky, and if he'd stand under it like every other person in the world, he'd feel warmth, too. After all, you could only share with other people when you decided you were one of them.


	30. Acceptance

Acceptance is a long, winding, exhausting road leading to the sunset, when you realize it's a long journey and, sighing, begin to walk.

_Sparks fly, lightning strikes, it's heat and loud bangs, pain and raised voices._

"It's wrong," she cries, trembling. "It'll never work, because it's _wrong..._"

His eyes are piercing, burning, steely gray. When his fingers brush her cheek, his touch is cold.

"It's wrong," he agrees.

_Rebellion._

_The light is steady, burning, unyielding, turning everything to hot, desperate red. _

_The light is blinding. _

She holds his hands between hers tightly. "What can we do?" she says desperately. "What can I do?"

He swallows, eyes roving her face fiercely, and his voice is hard when he speaks. His hands are clenched in hers.

"Hold on," he says. "Just don't let go."

_Soldiers march, voices chorus loudly, defiantly, the sun hits the world with great heat. People are running like little ants. Wind beats upon trees mercilessly, shaking the oldest beings. The sky is shot through with panic and blood and swirling clouds. _

Hands are clenched, anchors to life.

They wait for the sun to set. The road stretches endlessly in front of them.

_The world is violet in the night, trees are dark ghosts holding out their arms to the sky. It's quiet. _

They stand. He holds her, because she is tired, and slowly, sighing, they walk down the road.


	31. City

She couldn't be dead.

Hordes of people, laughing, crying, serious, humored, walked past him, brushed into him, saw through him and acknowledged him. The buildings stretched up to the sky, metallic and gleaming. The roads were smooth and straight and impersonal, and the _tap tap tap tap tap taptaptap_ of people, so many people, walking, running, everywhere...

There was so much life.

He stood in front of the clock tower. It rose above him, imposing, almost sinister, and the two hands stretched regally upward to meet at the ornate, quaint, large "XII". The clock tolled, loud, ringing, echoing in his every pore.

People continued to walk as the clock chimed through all their hearts, not noticing, underestimating time.

He felt someone very small walk into him, and look down to see a little girl. She gazed up at him with half-afraid eyes.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and she dodged him to skip away quickly. He stared after her, and the clock tolled as the city moved past him, as life passed him by.

_Why wouldn't time stop? _

_She is dead. _

_Why can't time stop? _

With her, the earth should have stopped turning, the flowers blooming, the sun rising. The sand should have congealed in the glass. The clocks in the world should have come to a standstill, with their hands frozen and lifeless.

The clock rang, rang so loudly across the city, and he could imagine numbers changing all around the world at this moment, on every watch, every tower, every perception and thought.

People would move on, laugh, cry, live and die. She would rot in her grave. Sands would fall, clocks would turn, and the earth would circle. And to him it would happen, all happen, meaningless, mindless, useless.

He stared up at the clock. It was past twelve now, and it should have been quiet...but the chimes rang, over and over, in his head.

He turned, tried to blend with the life, and endless _movement_, pendulums swinging dizzily in his mind.

Lights were bright in the city that night. Voices were loud in the city that night. He was awake as it passed him by.

* * *

This was inspired largely by the lovely poem "As I Walked Out One Evening" by W.H Auden.


	32. Blue

Draco possessed many talents, but Ginny'd realized that appreciating art wasn't one of them. Her paintings were not a 'blinding eyesore', as he called them when he was grumpy, but abstract art! Art didn't exist solely in sunrises and mountains and cottages by the sea! He'd merely given her a disdainful look before drawling, "Yes, Ginevra, and my nose has stripes."

But Ginny believed in the power of colors. She believed that every soul exuded one dominant color that defined it. She herself would probably be a vivid purple. Or a vivacious red.

Draco was the mystery.

She stood in the the backyard, with her easel propped. She was actually supposed to be dressing for some party; Draco'd expect her to be ready when he returned. But the temperament had moved her.

Would Draco be gray? No...gray was mysterious, but _dull_. Gray was the color of...concrete, or ruined porridge. That would never do for the beauty of Draco's psyche.

Black, then? No. Black was like tar. Green? Definitely not. Draco shared very little with grass.

Ginny finally dipped her brush into a shade of striking, cerulean blue, and ran it across the canvas.

He was a blanket of azure sky, the glint of sapphire amidst clouds of cobalt. A bolt of electric, periwinkle lightning shot across the horizon of aquamarine. Sparks of little stars shone through like pale tinted ice. Enigmatic, beautiful waterfalls of midnight.

She sighed. It expressed Draco perfectly. And she suddenly felt him behind her.

"Aren't you dressed yet?" he asked irritably. She turned to him to find him frowning at her. Yes, she'd definitely painted his soul.

"I was painting." When she showed this to him, something inside him would echo her creation, surely.

"I can see that," he said dryly. "Unfortunately. You're covered in paint."

"Look at it, Draco!" she cried, standing aside. "Look at it. It's beautiful. It's my best painting. It's...got so much depth..."

He strolled forward, surveyed it critically.

She waited expectantly. He had to recognize his personality in it's brilliance! "What do you think?"

He turned to her with, shrugged. "Ginevra, I'm not color blind. It's blue. Now go get dressed, will you?"

* * *

**A/N: **Apparently, I'm a little rusty with writing in general. But I had to, in order to stay alive. Forgive me for this one. *sighs*


	33. Hear No Evil

Draco thought this had to be the most boring museum ever; his eleven-year-old son seemed to agree. Xavier was ahead of them, eyeing the artifacts with a sulky twist to his mouth.

"Eating your words yet, honey?" Draco drawled at his redheaded wife.

"The brochure said 'informative and entertaining," she snapped irritably.

Draco snorted derisively, glancing around himself. This was nothing more than a bigger Borgin and Burke's. "What a waste of time."

She said nothing for awhile, watching Xavier, who'd paused in front of something.

"Okay," she conceded finally. "It's a bloody waste of time."

She went forward to see what her son was examining.

It was a dark, wooden carving of the three wise monkeys, a plate beneath it stating that it was carved by an old Kōshin chieftain.

The wood was deep and grainy behind the glass case, and the monkeys all had solemn faces. The first covered his eyes, the second primly crossed his arms across his chest, the third clamping his hands over his ears.

"This is kinda cool," Xavier stated.

"Yes," Ginny agreed.

"We have a big brass making of this at the Manor," Draco said, unimpressed.

Xavier shrugged. "It's the best thing here. If I pretend to like something, maybe we can go home sooner." He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled away again, leaving his mother glaring after him.

"This was a big waste," Ginny sighed. "There's no point trying to...educate him before he goes to Hogwarts."

"Yeah," Draco agreed absently. "Ginny, I have three hours before I get to work."

She glanced at her blond husband, whose gray eyes were a little dreamy. "What are you thinking?"

Draco smirked slowly, slowly turned to regard her with playful eyes. "It's going to require some privacy...lack of clothing..."

Ginny blushed, glanced around to make sure Xavier was out of hearing range. "Ssshh!"

Draco snickered quietly, planted a smooth kiss at the corner of her lips.

"It's okay," he murmured, throwing a mocking glance at the pious-faced monkey who'd covered his ears. "The people around here believe in 'hear no evil'..."


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: (Since I wasn't able to finish this 100 drabble challenge, I thought I'd post this here) **My good friend Sarah (**imadoodlenoodle**) had her birthday almost a month ago, and I suck, because I wasn't able to give her anything. I've wanted to write her a fic for aaaages, but it never happened.

So, finally, this happened when I was a little sleep-deprived. It's not much, but I hope you enjoy it, Sarah! A very, very belated happy birthday.

* * *

She spied her husband lying lazily sprawled on the couch, intently perusing some sort of novel, and gulped.

Well, it had to be done.

She approached him, and cleared her throat. "Draco."

He frowned, glanced at her questioningly. "What's up?"

"You know...um, Sarah?"

"Which Sarah, the psychic?" said Draco absently, brow furrowing as he continued to read. "No, Ginny, I don't want to see her again. She's a bit scary, really."

"Draco." She gently pulled the book away, and knelt down to stare meaningfully into his face. "Your classmate Sarah."

"My classmate Sarah?" Draco straightened immediately, his eyes gleaming. "What about her?"

Ginny stared at him. How could he have forgotten? After all, Sarah Fabienne had been something of an Ice Princess back at Hogwarts; with her curtain of shiny chestnut hair, piercing eyes, and demanding ways, she had the school at her feet.

Also, she'd had a bit of a thing for Draco. Even Draco, Ice Prince, had to respect Sarah Fabienne. Sarah Fabienne was...the queen. Disrespecting her had consequences. And all of the others in Slytherin house had to wish her worshipfully on her birthday, with a gentlemanly peck on her cheek, and offer her the customary purple asters, and a lifetime of servitude and devotion.

"Draco," Ginny whispered, "yesterday was her birthday."

Draco froze.

"Well, we're out of school now, aren't we?" he snapped defensively, hating the slight tremor in his voice. "I'm not _obliged_ to visit her, or anything, it's been a month since the last reunion at Hogwarts, and it's no big deal!"

Ginny stared pityingly at him.

Draco sighed. "Oh, Merlin, Gin. I'm screwed."

"She'll tell your mother," Ginny said desolately. "You know how Narcissa is already angry with us. She'll tell your mother, and your father. She'll tell everyone about us. Draco, that lady is _dangerous_ for you. I mean, I don't care about society and all that tosh, but with your family..."

Draco looked positively terrified now.

"Are you _sure_ it was yesterday?" he demanded. "Maybe...maybe you read the calender wrong, or something, maybe..."

Ginny shook her head.

Draco shot to his feet, running a slightly shaky hand through his hair. "Merlin," he muttered. "Sarah's birthday, her _birthday_, how could I have forgotten?" He glared icily at Ginny. "Bloody nice of you, Ginny, reminding me with twenty-four hours delay. _Thank_ you so much."

She glared, bristling. "I forgot, too, okay? After all, _I'm_ not one of her subjects, _you_ are!"

Her tall, blond, arrogant husband glared at her for another moment before he sighed, seeming to droop slightly, and his eyes grew desperate. "Dammit. She's going to be so angry..."

"Well, go visit her now," Ginny said reasonably. "Get her...something priceless, like a thousand year old Egyptian tiara, or something."

He nodded, seeming to swallow. Then he glanced at Ginny. "You're coming with me."

"Should I really?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "You can make sure I'm cremated if she kills me."

* * *

Draco's long fingers clutched around the handsomely wrapped tiara, they walked tensely down toward Sarah Fabienne's gleaming Grecian palace.

"How did this happen, anyway, I can't stop wondering," mused Ginny a little breathlessly. "I mean, how did she turn into this...goddess? How did she manage that?"

"I don't know," answered Draco honestly. "She's just...like that. I mean, the girls, like Pansy or Astoria, were almost her friends. But us guys...we had to worship her. You can't look at her and not. She's got that..._thing._"

"What thing?"

He glanced at her, smirking humorlessly. "What you don't have, Ginny. Royalty."

Ginny sniffed. "Oh, whatever."

"The way Sarah talks to you...you feel like you've been honored. People like Crabbe used to positively swoon every time she looked at him. Some guys felt blessed to even be around her."

Ginny recalled seeing the graceful form of Sarah Fabienne, sweeping slowly down a corridor, crowds parting automatically as she approached. She'd deign a disdainful glance at one or two people around her, a small, amused smile curving her lips.

"Quick," someone would mutter, "Sarah's coming. Get out of the way, and make sure you smile."

She'd never understood it...but she'd never been able to deny it.

Finally in front of a tall, ornate door with a rather heavy, gleaming brass knocker, Draco sighed, and knocked.

There was a few moments silence, before a grim butler opened the door, showing them in. Having been here quite a few times over the last few years, either to wish Sarah happy birthday, or wish her the best on her journey to Thailand, or simply to pay her respects - doing these things had hurt Ginny's pride immensely, but for Draco's sake it had to be done - the breathtaking house didn't startle her as much as it had the first time.

Still, they stood in the middle of the gleaming living room, the pearly marble floors, under a diamond chandelier, waiting. Draco had an expression that was a mixture of anxiety and a would-be casual smirk.

"Miss Fabienne will arrive shortly," the butler said grimly, before marching away.

After around ten minutes, a sort of odd silence was in the air, with only the rustle of silk to be heard, when Sarah Fabienne slowly sauntered into the room, dressed in what looked like a gaudy, gleaming, silky white dressing gown.

Her beautiful, icy eyes fixed on Draco's face, she inclined her head lazily. "Draco," she said quietly, in a voice like silvery wind chimes. "I see you've deigned me with my presence. My," she put a delicate hand to her chest, "I do feel honored."

To their surprise, a certain tall, swarthy, bare-chested man, hair tousled and cheeks flushed, followed after her, grinning sheepishly.

"Blaise?" Ginny exclaimed in surprise. Hastily Blaise Zabini straightened the band of his jeans, before smirking at Ginny sheepishly.

Draco raised a single eyebrow at his friend, who, despite wearing no shirt and looking quite excited - in the racier meaning of the word - was gazing at Sarah hopefully.

"Zabini," Sarah murmured, glancing coldly at Blaise, "seems to share your excellent memory and...manners. Or lack thereof."

"I didn't mean to forget, I told you," Blaise muttered. "I'm sorry."

Sarah clenched a small, beautiful hand around Blaise's tousled hair, pulling his face to hers to press a dispassionate kiss on his lips. Blaise blushed.

Pulling away, he grinned triumphantly at Draco.

"My apologies," Draco said finally, holding out the present. "For you, Sarah."

Sarah hadn't once acknowledged Ginny, who, rolling her eyes, had decided to ignore the scene in front of her and was staring grumpily at the life-sized painting of Sarah Fabienne, resting regally against a red velvet chair, on the opposite wall.

Sarah turned her gleaming eyes on Draco. "Thank you," she said softly. "I feel so very loved. I'll be sure to tell your mother," she continued delicately, her eyes boring into his, "of your kindness."

* * *

As Draco and Ginny hurried out of the driveway of the house, a deep, husky voice called, "Hey, wait!"

They turned to see Blaise, who was pulling on a shirt as he ran toward them. "I got thrown out," he admitted easily. "Wait up."

"What did you do?" Draco questioned sourly. "Offer yourself as man-whore?"

Blaise simply smirked. "Come on, Draco." He winked at an annoyed Ginny. "There are ladies about."

"So, what?" Draco drawled nastily, "did she accept the present?"

"After some begging, yeah," said Blaise smugly. "At least, for a bit."

"You two are like drooling puppies to that woman," Ginny grumbled.

Blaise shrugged.

Draco shot a slightly envious look at his friend before he wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, and they half-ran away from Sarah Fabienne's palace.

They'd buy the next ten years worth of birthday presents tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: **So I know this is no way proper DG, but Sarah rules this one. :D

And Sarah isn't the manipulative bitch in this fic. Of course not. *blinks innocently*

So anyway, I hope you liked this, Sarah! :D


	35. heartless

Yes, I'm going to try and continue the challenge. I miss writing drabbles!

PLEASE REVIEW! :D

* * *

He cared about her every move, every tilt of her head, every blush of her cheek, every blink of her eyes. He cared that each of these little things might mean something. He wanted to be part of that meaning. He wanted to be part of her every move.

She felt like he was at every corner she turned, saw him at every step she took. She felt him creep into every layer of her, reality, dream and delusion, and invade it. She was so, so sure he didn't care.

And he hated her for making him care so much.

He saw her across the corridor, saw precisely the turn of her head in his direction, saw her amber eyes flick searchingly over the crowds for him. Saw her find him, her eyes fix intently, for a single moment, on his.

And, deliberately, slowly, he turned away from her, allowing the tiniest of sneers to twist his lips; he caught the sudden uncertainty and pain shoot into her eyes. Then he'd turned away, made her invisible to him.

It hurt him to do so. He hoped it hurt her more.

"Meet me," his note said. "I need to see you. Need to talk." She could feel his eyes on her from the other side of the Great Hall, feel their intensity warm her skin. She wanted to fly across the hall to his side, to feel the touch of his skin against hers; she wanted to write back, "I'll come. Anywhere you want. Any time. I have so much to tell you."

And instead, she sighed, shoved the note carelessly into her pocket, stood and breezily walked out of the hall. She felt his eyes follow her out, but she didn't look.

She'd seen the coldness that masked his eyes. She hoped he'd feel coldness as she walked out of his sight.

She was beautiful. He wanted to hold her as tight as he could, bury his face in her soft, sweet-smelling hair.

He took a step away from her.

"This is what I am. Nothing's going to change."

_I don't care,_ she wanted to say. _Anywhere. Anything. I don't care._

"No matter how you change," she said fiercely, "it won't make a difference."

She turned away from him, and walked away.

He stared after her stonily.

Something in his chest was pulsing and screaming and bleeding. He wanted to wrench that something out, and fling it far away.


	36. Light

The beats were thrumming all around, in his very pulse, in his blood and his soul. The lights were blinding before they submerged him in darkness, and then flashed red and purple in his eyes again, revealing moving bodies and a maze of twirling feet.

Everything was a blur, everything was dark and light and abstract, and she was pushed against the bar. Her every curve was blurred, the soft twist of her collarbones, the slow slant of her waist, the gradual, long curve of her legs.

Her eyelashes, fluttering like butterfly wings against his cheek as his lips travelled the roads towards her lips.

The beat was all there was, resounding in his brain, the beat and the sporadic, hot lights, and then he heard her voice in his ear, soft as shadows.

"Stop," she whispered. "Don't."

Lights danced off her eyes, danced off her lips as she stopped him with her eyes, staring up at him with sudden seriousness.

"Why?" he asked, a certain impatience in his voice. He didn't want to stop. The beats continued, and so would he.

"I want you to stop."

But she didn't. Not really. Her heartbeats were loud, louder than anything, echoing off the walls. Her breathing hot and excited, and he could see it in her eyes.

Her small fingers clenched around his shirt, and she suddenly caught him in her intense, dark gaze. "You don't know what you're doing," she said softly. "You don't know what you want."

"I want you," he said fiercely. "You're beautiful." And his lips came down on hers, silencing her in the only way he remembered through the haze.

For one moment everything was bathed in red as the music reached a crescendo, and all he wanted was her, he knew nothing else; all he saw was the red glint in her eyes, the red of her hair, the soft rise and fall of her breasts against his chest.

She wanted to die, she wanted to lose herself. She pulled away, pushed him away. "You don't know," she repeated. And suddenly, suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. "Things look strange under these lights," she whispered, as the room fell dark again. "Things feel strange under these lights."

And for a moment, in the dark, he couldn't see her, could only feel her there, soft and vibrant and glowing. He smiled with odd tenderness, and slowly leaned in, and kissed the corner of her mouth. Her tears glittered in the dark.

"I don't know what I want," he said quietly. "But under these lights, I see you."

* * *

I owe this one completely to "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" by Radiohead. The beats in that song wrote this for me. :D And I wrote this really, really quickly and was too excited to post, so forgive me if it's choppy in any way. PLEASE REVIEW!


	37. Archaic

_I admire the fire in you,_ he thought, watching her silently. _It is so blessedly pure. The fire in you burns, uncurbed and untamed. _

_Call me old fashioned,_ he'd once said, _but I prefer the world burn at my hand, than by forest fires. _

The satin sheets around him sighed with his every movement, and his long, thin fingers picked idly at the folds in them as he continued to watch her. Finally she opened her eyes, and rose gracefully from the pillows.

He preferred that she lie by his side awhile longer. He wanted to see her luxurious red hair fan out beneath her, flowing like fire over the sheets, over himself.

"Stay," he said calmly.

She turned to him slowly, and he saw the defiance rise in her eyes, more out of habit than design; she hated taking orders from him, and he loved giving them. He saw the other gleam in her eyes, the one that excited him. He met her defiance apathetically.

"It's late," she began, "and I-"

"Stay."

For a moment she paused, and then she lay back down, turning to him with a slow smile twisting her lips. The sun rose higher in the sky, the flames burnt brighter in her eyes, and he smiled back.

He enjoyed her. He enjoyed her the way he enjoyed the crunch of gravel beneath his feet as he walked, the burn of Firewhiskey in his tongue; he enjoyed her like he enjoyed opera and dance, music and poetry.

Paintings of long-forgotten, lovely days, with lapping waves and yellowed towns, hung on his wall. He loved her, loved her within the confines of the dark frames that held the canvasses of those sepia-tinted times he'd spent Galleons to preserve. She was a fire in his cold marble fireplace, alive under him, dying at his hand.

He turned to her slowly, his eyes fixing on hers. The sun streamed in through the blinds of the window, casting golden shadows on her skin.

"_Dans ton coeur sanglotant,_" he whispered. "_Dans ton coeur ruisselant..."_

_In your heart that sobs. In your heart that bleeds._

He would quell forest fires under his shoe. He would light a cigarette, and simply hold it, to watch it burn.

* * *

The line of French is from the poem "A Une Madone" by Charles Baudelaire. I'm quite sure I got the meaning right; if I didn't, forgive me. It sounds beautiful, anyway. u_u

I know that technically the "obvious" drabble comes before this. I have that written out too, but for some reason I want to post this first, because I love it. I hope you like it too. Please don't forget to review!


	38. Obvious

The ring was both simple and elegant: a white sapphire set in a delicate web of gold.

It had now been two weeks since he had presented this ring to her - Draco was never one for waiting. He saw no reason to wait for things that he believed were rightfully his. Ginny Weasley was one of those things.

Draco sat back in his chair, his fair brow furrowing, and thought back to the night he had asked the redhead to marry him.

He disliked big gestures - he believed extravagance was unnecessary when something could be accomplished with simplicity. He was like his father: grand in all else, proud and subtle in romance.

Lucius's idea of a good way to celebrate his wife's birthday had always just been sex. Draco smirked.

It had been a beautiful night; it had been raining outside, and mist furled outside the windows, making it feel as though they lived within a cloud. They had made love in the dark to the sound of the rain spattering against the windows, and in that moment he had known it was the right time - when he could feel her sighing against his skin, her soft hair enveloping him in her scent, the slightest glint of her golden eyes in the dark. As she lay in his arms, he'd whispered, "Ginny, I love you."

"And I love you," she'd replied, turning her head to kiss his chest sleepily.

Slowly, he withdrew the ring from the bedside table, and with his other hand, flipped on a switch, allowing the room to be flooded with light.

"Draco, what is it?" She had sat up slowly, her eyes questioning his, and he had wordlessly held out the ring. Finally he had said calmly, "I want you to marry me."

He had never expected her reaction.

She had stared at it, her face flushing, for a few moments before raising her eyes to his. He could see nothing in them. She picked up the ring from his fingers, and simply placed it back on the bedside table, while his heart thundered in his chest and he was filled with a sort of mounting fear.

"We'll talk about it later," she had said, before turning off the lights. "I'm tired."

The next morning she simply went about her day normally - kissing him, fighting with him - without any mention of his proposal, and he had thought, well_, well,_ if that's how the bint wanted to play it, he could play at it too.

If she wasn't even going to deign to acknowledge that he had asked her to marry him - something she would know must have been intensely difficult for him to say - he would not say another word about it. He was sure she would mention it eventually, but he would not acknowledge how she had behaved. He even debated leaving her - but that would mean accepting how she'd hurt him, and he couldn't have that. So he waited. He would not betray a single moment of the resentment and hurt that boiled within him, and quell his urge to simply drown himself in the bathtub.

Draco sighed, downed the last of his Firewhiskey - and decided to spend the night at the office.

It was only two days later, when they were having dinner with Hermione Granger and her husband, Charlie Weasley, that it happened.

He had been sipping his wine, lost in his thoughts as he gazed at the steak on his plate, and how the ketchup was a silly red; not a deep, fiery red that would glow in the sun, but a dead sort of red - the red of tomatoes and other such silly things - when her voice caught his attention.

"...want a June wedding, but we haven't settled on a date yet," Ginny was saying.

"Well, yes," Hermione said matter-of-factly, and it was then that it dawned on Draco that they all _knew._ He looked at Charlie, who was simply gazing at Hermione speak, and realized with a cold fury that Ginny Weasley had already told these two people about his proposal.

And she was speaking as though...as though, well, as though she'd said yes.

"Yes," Hermione continued, "but you're in really no hurry, and a spring wedding is sort of cliche - it has to be a wedding fitting of that lovely ring you've got!"

Draco glanced at Ginny to see the redhead blush and grin happily.

_She'd even shown them the ring. _

He said nothing, and ate in silence, not once looking at his fiancee - _fiancee -_ and only when Hermione excused herself to go to the washroom, and Charlie exited the room to, presumably, join Hermione in the washroom - did he turn coldly to Ginny.

"You're marrying me, is it?" he said flatly. "Well, isn't that convenient."

Ginny grinned, and said, "Oh, it's more than convenient, Malfoy - it's perfect."

He simply looked at her, his eyes darkening with emotion, unable to deny the fountain of joy that had erupted in his chest. "Why didn't you say anything?" he said tensely, hating how uncertain he sounded. "Why..."

Ginny looked at him mischievously, a smile unfurling her lips. "Oh, Draco," she said, and she touched his face, watching as those gray eyes shone, warmed at her touch. "I should have thought it was obvious."

* * *

**AN: **So clearly this is way too long to be a drabble, but I sort of like it anyway. Mostly because it's the first thing I've written in ages.

I suck. :/


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